


The Best Sandwiches In Queens

by musical_rins



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Anxiety, Gen, Social Anxiety, idk about y’all but I have terrible anxiety in 7-11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 18:08:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14721032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musical_rins/pseuds/musical_rins
Summary: Delmar deals with many anxious kids at the register. Peter is one.





	The Best Sandwiches In Queens

**Author's Note:**

> first work in this fandom! I love my spider boy, and I love projecting my anxiety on him. I wrote this at 1 am because nothing is being posted in the Spider-Man tag and I’m ~bored and sad~ so enjoy my mistakes  
> I also do not love in queens so I have no idea what it’s like there, sorry I live in the land of no sales tax and gas pumped for you

He’s thirteen.

Give or take a year or two, but probably around thirteen. His body looks a little scrawny, his jeans seem a bit baggy. His hoodie was big. Not by much, just enough to where the sleeves are rolled up. His back read the logo for Midtown High School.

He had waddled in, wearing his shoulders as earrings. He had a lame walk, sort of like how a penguin would look if it were afraid of convenience stores. The boy grasped onto his wadded cash for dear life, and Delmar has to wonder; for what reason in heaven or hell would you have to squeeze something like that until your knuckles turned white?

It’s no surprise the boy dragged himself to the candy isle, spouting a concerned look. It’s not unusual for a boy his age to be shopping for candy at this hour. He isn’t complaining, candy sales bring in a lot of money, in fact. Whatever keeps the kids going, keeps him going. It’s completely okay.

What isn’t okay, is that the store has almost emptied out. The kid has been standing there for ten minutes, good lord.

“See ya later, Delmar.” The final customer makes off with his items, leaving Delmar alone with the other workers and the kid.

The boy is starting to look more conflicted than before, which Delmar thought would’ve been impossible. He wonders if the boy realizes he’s all alone, creepily staring at the chocolates with a twitching leg.

The kid reaches out and touches something, and begins to pull it off the rack. It falls. He tries to catch it. He can’t. Delmar chuckles. The boy grabs the item, trudging to the register with a shameful bow. He throws the package of gummy worms in front of Delmar, looking away as he pulls at his joints.

“If you keep doing that, your fingers are gonna look like my grandpop’s,” Delmar jokes, ringing up the candy.

The boy looks startled. “I-I’m sorry.”

“No shame in it. It was just a joke, felt like you needed a mood lift. Dollar fifty, please.” Delmar holds out his hand.

The kid looks with panic, shuffling the bills around in his hand. It seems like he only has tens, but he continues to look around anxiously, arching his back more and more.

“Kid. I can break bills.” Delmar looks at the boy’s worried face.

The boy’s face snaps up at Delmar as he hands him a ten. “I’m so sorry.”

“No worries,” Delmar looks for ones. “If I couldn’t split a ten, I’d be out of business.”

“Oh.” He twiddles his thumbs. There is silence as Delmar completes the purchase.

“You go to Midtown?” Delmar asks, glancing at the boy’s hoodie.

“Y-Yes,” he sputters.

“Must’ve taken some smarts to get into there.”

“I’m just lucky, sir.”

Delmar laughs, handing the boy the money. “Must be. Here you go.”

The boy takes the money with shaky hands, grabbing the candy back with a scared face. “Thank you, sir.”

“Take care, now.”

The kid ducks out of the building, a tiny bell ringing as he exits.

A worker calls to Delmar from the back. “Another anxious kid?”

“Yeah.” Delmar rests his elbow on the counter. “Never know what to do with them. My daughter’s anxious too, but she won’t tell me why. I never know if it’s the people or the place.”

“It’s difficult.”

“I agree.”

Delmar watches as a man approaches the same boy outside his shop. They embrace, and the boy shows him his candy while giving back the change. His father, maybe? Definitely someone he knows, but at the end of the day, it’s not really his concern.

Though, he does wish he could make it easier for kids to buy things without breaking down.

He doesn’t see the kid for another month, at least. That’s what usually happens. The boy’s not going to be a consistent buyer, that’s for sure. Delmar forgets these kids after weeks. Once a customer, not necessarily always a customer.

The door opens with a ring. It’s the kid.

He looks confident, his shoulders are firm and his head is up, yet somehow that makes him seem more anxious. Geez, this kid. The boy walks up to the register, his chest tucked in, and his fake demeanor collapses. He seems scared again. 

“I want sandwich, please!” He gets red in the face.

“What sandwich, Midtown kid?”

The boy stutters. “My uncles says- my uncle- he says number five is good.”

“That it is.” Delmar calls behind him. “Number five!”

“I’m sorry!” The boy yells, a little loud. He brings it to a whisper. “Can I have pickles on it? And can you squish it down, like, flatten it? I’m sorry.”

Delmar smiles. “It’s not a problem. You are a man of taste, I see. I didn’t catch your name, kid.”

Almost on instinct, the boy replies, “I didn’t throw it.”

“Aren’t you a little young to be watching that movie?”

“I’m almost fourteen, sir.”

“Thus, proving my point. That’ll be five dollars.”

This time, the boy has the money ready to go.

“My name’s Peter. Parker. Peter Parker. Pete. Petey-“ Peter breathes in. “I’m Peter.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Parker.” Delmar holds out his hand, chuckling. Peter takes it. His hand is small and clammy.

“Here’s your sandwich, Peter.”

“Thanks- Thank you.” Peter ducks out once again.

Delmar looked behind himself. “He’s a little better now, I think.”

“Seems more comfortable.”

Then on forth, Peter was a regular. Something to be proud of, for sure. Regulars aren’t easy to come by. Often times, Peter won’t buy anything. Maybe he lacks money that day, or maybe he truly enjoys Delmar’s company. He eventually blabbed about his aunt and uncle, talking about how great they were. Delmar didn’t press about his parents. It’s not his business. Peter brought May and Ben in to meet Delmar, a pleasant surprise indeed. Such nice folks, such a sweet kid. Murph, his cat, could agree to that. Eventually, Delmar stopped hearing the stutter. He stopped seeing the slouch, he stopped hearing the apologies. If a kid like Peter can talk to him without his anxiety interfere, miracles may as well be real.

The door keeps ringing. Day after day, Peter isn’t the one behind it. Week after week, he doesn’t show up for his Number 5, pickles and squished down. The kid was fifteen. Anything could’ve happened. The world is not a very nice place. Has he overstepped his boundaries by worrying? Would it be creepy to look for Peter? He’s essentially a friend at this point, but he knows that it shouldn’t be his business. Yet, the kid could be missing. The kid could be dead. The kid could’ve hurt himself, purposeful or not, and that struck high on Delmar’s worry list. Peter had anxiety. He knew. He knew. What if he could have done something?

Delmar hears a drawn out creak, and then a bell. His eyes dart to the door.

It’s Peter.

He’s wearing an oversized white T-shirt, stained but still wearable. Peter seems to be clutching onto it for dear life. He has no money. Looks like he has little hope.

“Kid?”

Peter’s voice cracks. “Hi, Mr. Delmar.”

“Where have you been? Murph has been missing you.”

Peter gulped. “No time.”

“No time to go here?”

A nod.

“Were you grounded, or something? Peeping your nose in places it shouldn’t be?”

Peter mumbles. “Not in that way.” He holds onto his shirt tighter. It way too big. “Did you ever hear about it?”

“Hear about what?”

He whispered, solemnly. “M-My uncle Ben.”

Delmar was alarmed. “Ben? What happened to your uncle, Peter?”

“He-“

“He what?”

“He got shot.”

Nobody moved.

“He got shot dead, Mr. Delmar.”

Delmar looked at the boy.

“And its all my fault.”

**Author's Note:**

> owch


End file.
